


Taking the Lead

by bea_bickerknife



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: But Otherwise Just a Bunch of Nerds Having a Nice Time for Once, F/F, Heavily Implied Bisexual Polyamory, Mention of a Highly Contentious Chili Cook-Off, OT3, Pre-SoUE, The Obligatory VFD Beach Party Fic We All Knew We Needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-04-14 09:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14132868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_bickerknife/pseuds/bea_bickerknife
Summary: Ordinarily, Georgina keeps her hands to herself. Tonight is far from ordinary.





	Taking the Lead

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, I own none of the characters in this work, nor do I derive any remuneration from its posting.

The Anwhistles’ annual end-of-summer bonfire night is in full swing. Up in the cabin, a crowd has gathered in the kitchen for the double-blind taste test that will determine the winner of this year’s chili cook-off (Quentin Quagmire holds three consecutive titles, but Kit Snicket returned from a recent assignment in Peru with a suitcase full of smuggled habaneros and a grudge, so the competition is heating up in more ways than one). Somewhere on the bluff, Monty and Gustav and at least two of the Denouement triplets are traipsing tipsily through the tall grass in pursuit of what the herpetologist loudly insists is a sub-species of Land-Lubbing Sea Snake, but is in fact a waterlogged tree branch attached to a length of fishing line that, much farther up the hill, is attached to Olaf. A handful of Volunteers are taking advantage of the balmy evening with a swim in the black and sparkling waters of Lake Lachrymose, and on the beach, with sand underfoot and smoke wafting overhead, Josephine finds herself taking the lead.

It isn’t that Georgina is hesitant. After all, Josephine has observed her training. She’s seen her swan dive out third-story windows. She’s heard the strident ring in her voice when she spots the first fatal flaw in a debate opponent’s argument, and she’s watched the quick, confident movements of her hands when it’s her turn to conduct the weekly medical demonstration.

Outside of the infirmary, however, she keeps her hands to herself.

Josephine has always balked at the suggestion that she should speak only when spoken to; after a few frustrating weeks, however, she’s concluded that Georgina adheres to a variation on it when it comes to touch. She wants to know why, but she knows the optometrist well enough to imagine the stone wall she’ll encounter if she decides to pry. 

Fortunately, she’s stubborn enough to wait, and in the meantime…well, all the aptitude tests do categorize her as leadership material. 

Reaching skyward, she twists her torso first left and then right as if she’s stretching after a strenuous workout rather than a lively but sedentary – the word “sedentary” here means “taking place on a rickety fold-up bench beside a crackling fire” – debate over the question of free will in the emerging field of hypnotherapy. Heaving a conspicuous, contented sigh, she settles back, drops her left hand to her lap, and drapes her right arm over Georgina’s shoulders.

Oldest trick in the book, she thinks with an inward grin that spreads irrepressibly into an outward one when the smaller woman shifts closer. But it works every damn time. 

Georgina doesn’t swim, but she’s too practical to risk getting beach sand in her street clothes, and Josephine can feel the contours of her body and the heat of her skin through the thin white-and-navy fabric of her bathing suit as she nestles into her, the sensation by the fact that her own suit – a vivid orange number that scandalized the locals when she wore it to a wadi in Muscat on her honeymoon – leaves most of her right side bare. 

One moment passes into another. 

Music drifts indistinctly over the water from a boom box someone has set up on the dock. 

Just as Josephine is beginning to fully appreciate the steady rise and fall of Georgina’s chest, familiar footsteps crunch over the sand behind them

“She doesn’t bite, Gee. I should know.” Ike’s voice is teasing, as warm and as gentle as the man himself, but Georgina sits bolt upright at the sound of it, blonde braid whipping over her shoulder as she turns to look guiltily up at him.

“Please, Ike” admonishes Josephine, and although they’re rapidly approaching their fifth anniversary, she still hasn’t learned how to stop smiling at the sight of him. “We are ladies.” She pulls Georgina closer and feels her relax fractionally. “And gentlemen do not sneak up on ladies.”

With a mischievous twitch of his moustache, he sweeps his fisherman’s cap off his head and holds it over his heart as he addresses them. “Then allow me to offer my humblest and most gentlemanly apologies to you both,” he begins grandly before pausing to turn toward Josephine with a frown. “Say, Jo, what’s the plural of ‘ma’am?’”

She shakes her head. “There isn’t one. As a form of direct address, ‘ma’am’ takes only the singular.”

“But isn’t it a contraction of madam?”

“From the French madame, yes.”

“Well, then, what’s the plural in French?”

“Mesdames,” interjects Georgina, “but I’m almost certain we only use it to address written correspondence.” 

Not only is the younger woman apparently comfortable enough to interrupt, but she has also just correctly navigated a rather esoteric point of English mechanics. Josephine nearly punches the air in triumph. 

“In that case,” says Ike, “I’ll leave the plural out of it. Just thought I ought to come down and warn you both to steer clear of the cabin for a while.” As if on cue, the distant clash of metal drifts down from the open windows far above them, and he pales. “Oh, dear lord. They’ve found the sabres.” With that, he stoops down, steals a hasty kiss from Josephine, plants another on the crown of Georgina’s head, and hurries off up the hill. “Quentin’s a very sore loser,” he calls back over his shoulder. “And Kit – ”

Just then the wind shifts, rendering the rest of his explanation inaudible except for the words “cheating,” “falsely accused,” and “defend the honor of the Peruvian habanero.”

It doesn’t happen often, but on the rare occasions when Georgina laughs – really laughs – the grammarian finds herself powerless to do anything but join in. In that sense, tonight is no exception. 

But then the laughter fades and the air seems to crackle with something more than the sound of the bonfire, and when Georgina nestles back against her and reaches – unprompted and unasked – for her hand, Josephine finds the gesture nothing short of exceptional.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was requested by an anonymous Tumblr user.


End file.
